


Is there somewhere I can crawl inside my mind (where voices can't survive)

by Gingersnaps (K___P)



Series: It's not a war crime if you didn't set up the Geneva conventions [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Family Dynamics, Gen, Major Character Injury, Post Dream SMP War, Wilbur fucking died oh my god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:41:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27607775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K___P/pseuds/Gingersnaps
Summary: Every time he gets close to freedom, to saving himself and his brothers, he is betrayed. Safety is rare and fleeting, and all he can do is push forwards.It gets too tiring for words sometimes.OR: wilbur, trust, and the ways betrayals have shaped him
Relationships: Eret & Wilbur Soot, Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: It's not a war crime if you didn't set up the Geneva conventions [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1991350
Comments: 16
Kudos: 153





	Is there somewhere I can crawl inside my mind (where voices can't survive)

**Author's Note:**

> The war FUCKING destroyed me man . The start was so funny like ,,,,, penis w one ball ,,,, Schlatt's heart attack ,,,,,, presidential hot potato
> 
> Everything after that? Hell
> 
> Anyway I'll probably clean this up at some point but I need to get the adrenaline out somehow and also I have homework to do jshjdje

When Eret leads them to their deaths, eyes shining oddly behind their tinted glasses, Wilbur had suspected nothing. Why would he? After all, there had been no way of knowing, no slip-ups or mis-speaks. No, Eret's friendly facade had been foolproof, and they never knew until the walls had opened up and knives were thrust in their backs.

(He has never been fond of Eret's smoke and mirrors approach, of his secrecy and lies. And so, he made his plans as loud and as obvious as be could, grinning with too many teeth as he bragged about the bombs under his country.

Maybe it was a cry for help, maybe it was a plea for attention; either way, a crack formed in his heart that day, and he steadfastly refused to be like _him_.)

\---

When Fundy tears into the walls with a savage passion, methodically ripping it down brick by blackstone brick, he had been able to do nothing. How could he? After all, he and Tommy had been exiled from their own country, turned on by those they had loved and thought had been loved back in equal measures. Fundy's twitching tail and perked-up ears has been a dead giveaway to his excitement, his _vindication_ at being able to turn against his president.

(He laughed at his piss-poor attempt at reconciliation, his adamance that he had been a spy all along, just waiting for the perfect moment to retaliate. It was so stupid, in his mind, that one should get cold feet over a betrayal, should come running back with their tail between their legs.

He swore to himself that, no matter the outcome, he would stand by his decision.)

\---

When Tommy aims a crossbow bolt between his eyes, he can't even bring himself to care. Why should he? Tommy's tired of speaking to him, begging him not to detonate the bombs, and so turned straight to the violence he had known so well, hatred seething in his eyes. He had never been able to handle his own emotions well, impulsive to the very end, no matter how powerful his foe may have been. Even so, the sight of one he has considered a brother, ready to kill him at a moment's notice was a cruel one. His faith in Tommy waned for every second the crossbow remained in his hands.

(Tommy's impulsive nature was his downfall, in the end, so he swore to never be like that. His plans, along with the tnt, are laid out meticulously. He's hyperaware of the location of each and every bomb every time he steps foot on Manburg soil.

He's become so densensitised, mind warped so far, that the idea of one small slip excites him.)

\---

As Phil holds the sword in his hands, breathing shaky and face tortured, he felt nothing but relief. Why should he? His plans have come to fruition, and he's already won. Given that there's nowhere for him to go, no future for him to look forward to, he simply asks Phil to kill him. His refusals are all for show, of course; others have done worse for less, and he gives in readily. Even so, it doesn't erase the agony in his chest and in his heart, knowing the last thing he'll ever see is his own father.

(He had always admired Phil's unwavering beliefs in his morals and ideals. No matter the situation, he played by his rules, twisting the board to his own choosing.

He had tried to emulate that, too; there was no way for everyone to win, of course, but this way he could be like someone he really, truly loved.)

\---

Pushing the button and finally, _finally_ hearing that familiar hiss was nothing short of cathartic. Even as Phil gapes at the destruction wreaked before him, mouthing words that are swallowed up in the cacophony of noise, he doesn't open his eyes. He's dreamed about this moment for so long that he doesn't even need to see the proof of his last, ultimate betrayal.

(He doesn't want to see the rubble where buildings should be.)

And he's speaking, now, words that drift through the still air yet never settle in his ringing ears. Phil's eyes have narrowed, though; he supposed that's answer enough.

...

This is the end for him; he can taste it in the air. Phil has turned away from him, back towards L'manburg, desperately trying to find Tommy or Techno through the haze of dust. Wilbur scoffs. He knows it's a lost cause.

Kill me, he begs instead, do it now, where everyone can see. Those he once considered family will be the first to turn their weapons on him, after all. Isn't the good of the people worth more than the good of one?

Look at what I've done, he boasts, look at who I've hurt. Would Tommy ever be able to forgive Phil, knowing he let Wilbur escape? Would Tubbo ever feel safe around Phil again, knowing he did nothing to stop Wilbur?

Would he just stand by and let L'manburg truly collapse in on itself, bringing his sons down with it?

Phil's protests are weak, worthless. You're my son, he whispers, as if that means anything on the bleak battlefield. It doesn't take long for his resolve to crumble, for him to pick up the sword lying on the floor.

And as he turns around, eyes cold and burning with anger, he feels the beginnings of fear.

This is no longer Phil, his dad, who showed him how to pluck the guitar and pointed out constellations in the night sky. This is no longer Phil, who laughed at his jokes and explained his mistakes.

This is Philza, nigh untouchable, able to withstand any challenge thrown his way with a single swing of a sword. This is Philza, who once led an empire so strong it dominated an entire world.

(He doesn't know what's worse: to die at the hands of his father, or to die at the hands of a stranger.)

The first slash takes him by surprise, not having seen his arm move, and he stumbles back, hand weakly clutching at the blossoming red stain on his shirt. In his peripheral, he can see Phil raising the sword again - his sword, _Techno's_ sword. He'd been prepared for his death for a while, had known it would happen no matter the outcome, but ...

He closes his eyes, a split second before the sword slices down.

(Somewhere in the distance, there are howling cries, screams and shouts intermingling. Above all, rises a single, desperate question, tinged with horror and confusion and betrayal.

"Phil...?"

At least Tommy survived, he thinks, then thinks no more.)

\---

When he opens his eyes, he is in neither Pogtopia nor L'manburg. Apt, he figures: he had once told Tommy that he had no home, nowhere to turn to. Especially now, with a bounty likely upon his head, it would be suicide to show his face.

No, he is simply in the in-between.

As he pushes himself up, his hands don't crush the blades of grass, and the leaves never shake as his coat brushes past them. The paths make no noise where his heels once clicked against the wood, and the water no longer ripples with his reflection.

Here, standing in the house where it all started, he almost feels peaceful. He's in no danger, nor is he himself a danger; here, he is just Wilbur. He is not President Soot, he is not the disgraced General of an unnecessary war. 

(He is not the corrupt failure of a son he knows Phil sees him as. He is not the bastard, hypocritical traitor his old family definitely views him as.)

There is no real rush to get back to L'manburg, and so he takes his time, stopping at each dusty building and half-finished house. Everything had been dropped for the War, and now it was all gone without a trace. Would anyone be able to return to their old homes, cold and empty and missing months of memories?

Even when a chill runs down his spine, signalling the start of something bad, he doesn't pick up his pace. He had been told about the Wither, back when he was younger; it was a tormented creature, one that thrived off the pain of others. Its very soul was moulded from those banished to the Netherworld, its mind controlled by three spiteful, spurned deities.

He is greeted by absolute madness, water flowing into a newly-formed canal, craters littering every inch of the land. People are running around like ants, godawful armour glinting in the sunlight. Above it all, Techno stands, cackling like a tyrant king as his Withers decimate what his own explosions couldn't.

It's humbling, in a way, to just sit and watch it happen. 

Quackity passes him, eyes wide in determined panic, barely sparing him a glance; in fact, he would go so far as to say he looked right through him. His theory is only proved right when both Withers are drawn to him, staring at him impassively before gliding away.

His eyes are drawn to Tubbo, leaping over a crater to avoid an explosion. Ever since he'd first arrived at Wilbur's van, so long ago, he'd been an integral part of their plans. He held no ill will towards Tubbo - hell, he still liked the kid.

"Tubbo," he begins, eyes sparkling in the setting sun, "you are president of a crater."

(A shudder runs up Tubbo's spine, a familiar voice floating through his ears. When he looks up, though, he sees no-one. His heart sinks even further.)

He laughs, an empty, mocking sound. He's done what he wanted, he's done what _Dream and Techno_ wanted. There's nothing for him here anymore.

"Enjoy."

**Author's Note:**

> Feed me comments . Give me clout . Pay attention to me


End file.
